Right Hand Man
by crashing-avalanches
Summary: It was a hard decision to make; after all, he might not ever become the right-hand man that he wanted to be10 years back then. TYL!Gokudera ponders about his position as Vongola Decimo's right hand man and his future. Set after Future!Arc. OCs present. Rated T for Goku's smoking.


**Well~ I am back! Haha sorry for the hiatus but I will be back with more of KaLulu and my 8059 fics! **

**But here is a little fic about Gokudera making a very important decision in his life, as he considers the position Vongola Decimo's right hand man.**

**Enjoy! 3**

He leans on the balcony of his room, exhaling a stream of pale gray smoke through his lips. Those jade-green eyes that were once so full of life are dead, while one corner of his lips is curled up in a bitter smirk.

He can hear the laughter streaming through the walls next door, especially that idiotic lawn-head's boisterous guffaws and that stupid woman's screams of amusement. He shakes his head before dropping it down, choosing to ignore the noise from behind his back. Staring out at the spacious garden before him, the hard lines around his eyes soften and the dead demeanor slips away.

Temporarily, at least.

It's all over, he remembers telling himself. He remembers waking up to Uri purring softly, snuggling into his silver hair. He remembers asking Shoichi what happened. He remembers hugging Juudaime and feeling so relieved that he is alright, that he is not dead.

He remembers the entire sequence.

Now that he thinks about it, he had been so rash back then. He had caused Juudaime so much trouble, so much worry. He realizes that he was a crappy guardian, a useless right-hand man. A bitter laugh escapes his lips as he crushes the lit end of his cigarette into the balcony, leaving a slight burnt mark.

Well, he wouldn't have to think about this anymore soon.

He remembers the moment that he had woken up so vividly. After all the hugging and greetings, he had been surprised to see his butler standing in front of him. After a serious conversation, he finds himself here, smoking his eighth cigarette of the day.

He usually doesn't smoke that much, he thinks idly to himself as he fumbles around in his pocket for his lighter. A clinking sound reaches his hears, jerking him out of his reverie.

He stares at the ground, recognizing the small emblem on it. It is the Vongola crest that he pins to the collar of his red shirt when attending meetings or formal events. He crouches down and picks it up, turning it absent-mindedly in his fingers. Straightening up, he walks back into his room, deep in thought.

The documents are on his table, the important statements bolded and highlighted by his butler. He sinks down into the lush recliner before the table, gazing at them dully as his right hand fumbles with his tie, pulling his shirt collar open.

The irony of being left handed when you are the right-hand man of a mafia boss.

He slings the tie carelessly over the back of the recliner as he stares listlessly at the documents. Slowly, he drags himself up and picks them up, jade-green eyes moving lethargically as he reads one, two three pages.

He closes his eyes and inhales. Once, twice, thrice.

He can see his old man sitting across him now, dark green eyes pleading for him to come back, to be his son. He remembers how he used to love his father so much; he used to be his idol. He barks out a harsh laugh as he sets the documents back on the table.

That was twenty years ago.

Despite the choice given to him in these documents printed black and white, he still wants to take the offer –no. It is a will, a wish, something that his mother would have wanted.

He leans back, sinking into the cushions of the recliner. He shrugs off his fancy black jacket and tosses it carelessly over the recliner. He stares dully at the documents, biting his lower lip as he seeks for solutions to his situation.

There is one, but he hasn't turned to it in ages. Not since he left Italy to go to Japan. However, it seems to be the safest action to take now, the only fool-proof solution.

He sighs quietly and lifts himself off the comfortable recliner. Kneeling down in front of it, he faces the seat and places his clasped hands on the edge. He bows his head and closes his eyes.

For the first time in ten years, Gokudera Hayato prays.

He prays hard and long, not knowing when he had started tearing up. He shakes as he hunches his shoulders over in grief and desperation. He cries tears of helplessness, tears of loss, and tears of fear. His emotions come over in wave after wave and he could do not but just kneel there and surrender himself to all those emotions that he had kept locked away over all those years.

He cries as he remembers overhearing that that lady that taught him the piano was actually his mother. He remembers being so distraught. He remembers staring at Juudaime's cold body, not believing that he was dead.

He cries as he remembers staring at his father in the plain black coffin with his own family's crest carved on it. His own, not the Vongola's. He remembers looking at the still serene face set into a smile, the same one that he used to see every day and love when he was just eight.

He remembers the tears rolling down his cheeks as he watches the coffin being lowered down into the earth. He had been aware then that Bianchi had been crying too. He remembers the guilt that pools in his stomach even now as he prays, hard and passionately.

He would have actually gone to a nearby church for this, but he doesn't care anymore.

He rests his forehead against the soft fabric of the recliner, feeling his tears seep into the cushion. His body stops shaking as he finally gains control of himself, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He slowly stands up before slumping onto the couch, reaching for a tissue to clean his face. After what seems like so goddamn long, his fingers finally find the tissue box and he snags one out, wiping his face with it and blowing his nose with the one that follows. He places them on the table and silently stares at documents yet again.

This time, his face is one of determination, and his jaw is now set in determination.

He picks up his pen and signs his name on the dotted line at the end of the first document.

Then the second. Consecutively, the third one follows.

After what seemed like the gazillionth (does that word even exist, he thinks blindly to himself) document, he drops his pen on the table and stares at all of them.

Taking a deep breath, he smiles to himself.

Ah well, there's no turning back now.

He grabs the documents off the table and his jacket off the floor, ignoring the tie strewn haphazardly over the recliner. He opens the door and steps outside his room, his expensive Boss shoes clicking on the floor.

"Claudio."

His butler's head jerks up to stare at him. The corner of his lips curve up in a genuine smile; Claudio had never stopped caring about him, even when he had run away and refused to call the house that he had lived in for eight years home. They had grown up together, Claudio's father, Benigno had been his old man's butler after all. After his death, Claudio had taken his place, serving with all his heart even though he was lame in one leg.

He regards his old friend and current butler quietly as Claudio stands up straight, being able to do so because of specially made braces. They look at each other silently before he hands Claudio some of the documents and turns to the door that leads to the room next door.

"Hayato, are you sure about this?"

Claudio's voice echoes in the silent hallway while his hand is on the doorknob. He pauses and pivots on one foot to stare into his butler's eyes, green eyes calm with determination.

"I will take it."

Claudio simply nods and turns away to walk down the hallway, no doubt going to make all the necessary arrangements. He turns his attention back to the door in front of him, taking a deep breath before twisting the door knob to open the door.

It happens all in a flash as he smiles at Cavallone, scowls at the baseball idiot, screams something at lawn-head and the stupid woman, nods at Mukuro and silently touches his fingertips to Hibari's wrist as a means to acknowledge him. The Cloud and Mist Guardians, the only two in the room aware of his situation gaze at him, expectation in their eyes. Mukuro's heterochromatic gaze is unblinking while Hibari just looks away, tightening his grip on Cavallone's wrist. Luckily, the Bucking Bronco takes it as a sign that the CEDEF current head was in need of more punch and pours him some more.

He sucks in a deep breath unconsciously as he reaches the table where Juudaime is seated with Xanxus, the two of them engaged in some deep conversation about repairs and exchanges of gratitude. Juudaime, being the ever alert boss that he was, senses that he's here and smiles at him, getting up to hug him.

He knows that this isn't the time for this, so he smiles and takes just half a step back. Juudaime seems puzzled and Xanxus is staring at him as well. He nods, the words stuck in his throat and hands the remaining documents over. He forces himself to smile again, bows and excuses himself in a low voice before striding quickly out of the room, aware of Mukuro and Hibari's intense gazes on his back.

Once in the corridor, he is not surprised to see Claudio and some of his father's men waiting for him. He walks quickly down the hallway with them following him and he steps down the stairs, out of the door and puts one foot inside the limousine that has been prepared for him with Claudio holding the door open.

"Master Hayato."

This time, Claudio's voice is laced with formality. He sighs and nods in acknowledgement.

He steps into the limousine and waits as Claudio closes the door and walks to the front to start the engine. Behind them, the other cars all purr to life.

He stares at the sky from his window, barely registering as Claudio starts the car and drives toward the gates.

Only when they are out on the highways of Italy that he realizes that he would never be going back there as the Storm Guardian of the Vongola Decimo anymore and this realization makes him hang his head.

He sighs and slumps back into his seat.

There was no turning back.

After all, he would inherit the position of Boss in his family, like his father wished in his will. Like Bianchi hoped he would. Like his mother would have wanted, perhaps?

Like the documents that he just signed had officially declared.

******A/N: Just some Italian vocabulary:**

Claudio means "lame" in Italian, reason I made Claudio lame (:  
Benigno means "kind" in Italian, well...I just liked the name xD

Do review! And give Goku-chan some love! Me likes some brotherly 6959 and 1859 too!


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